Ironside: Of Spies, Thieves and Other Nice People
by Mounty Swiss
Summary: Ironside has to babysit 400 "precious" kings plus their queens… in Switzerland.
1. Chapter 1

**Ironside: Of Spies, Thieves and Other Nice People**

set Season 4, January 1971

**_Ironside has to babysit 400 "precious" kings plus their queens… in Switzerland._**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Ironside._

_This story is purely fictional. Of course I thought o__f the "WEF", the "World Economic Forum" writing it ("WDF" in my story). But any parallels to the real Forum or to real persons are unintended and coin__cidental. _

_Facts about the WEF (from Wikipedia):_

_The Forum was founded in 1971 by Klaus Schwab, a German-born business professor at the University of Geneva. Originally named the "European Management Forum", it changed its name to the World Economic Forum in 1987 and sought to broaden its vision further to include providing a platform for resolving international conflicts._

_In the summer of 1971, Schwab invited 444 executives from Western European firms to the first European Management Symposium held in the Davos Congress Centre under the patronage of the European Commission and European industrial associations, where Schwab sought to introduce European firms to American management practices. He then founded the WEF as a non-profit organization based in Geneva and drew European business leaders to Davos for the annual meetings each January._

_Today, thousands of soldiers are on duty during the WEF (for instance 2005: 5,500 soldiers)._

_The first "Open Forum" took place in 2003. It was instigated by the churches of Switzerland._

**Prologue**

The door to Chief Robert T. Ironside's office-apartment opened and Commissioner Dennis Randall walked in. This was not unusual: After the successful closure of a case he often came up to – kind of – congratulate Ironside and his people. But today, something was different: Randall seemed somewhat hesitating.

Ironside noticed it instantly. "Commissioner – you aren't afraid of telling me what the flamin' problem is, are you? I won't bite off your flamin' head – or have I ever done so?"

Strangely enough, Ironside's familiar grumpiness made the Commissioner feel more comfortable.

"Your usual friendliness encourages me to come out with this. Does the abbreviation 'WDF' ring a bell for you?"

"The 'World Development Forum'? Yes, I've heard of it. There's a big symposium of that organization planned in about a week or so. What about it?"

Officer Eve Whitfield, Sgt. Ed Brown and Mark Sanger left their work and approached curiously.

Randall kepthemming and hawing before he came out with his issue:

"See, Kurt Schwarz, the young business professor who founded the WDF, has invited more than 400 important politicians and business leaders to this meeting in Davos in Switzerland. They are going to discuss questions about world-wide development and politics. Well... this Kurt Schwarz is the son of my college roommate Heinrich Schwarz. And Heinrich is worried, because he thinks that the Davos police are desperately overstretched to provide the security for such a huge symposium."

Eve pictured important men and women in beautiful clothes attending posh receptions catered by their hotels. "Who would want to hurt those people? It's a good idea to bring them together in order to discuss possibilities of progress, isn't it?"

"This meeting is a symbol of western management and lifestyle. The Russians might try to attack it to show their predominance. Or terrorists might try to torpedo any unofficial peace negotiations that might take place."

"And what do you expect us to do?" For Ironside it was evident that the Commissioner hadn't come up just to share his concern with them.

"I would like you to go there and help the local police."

That came as a real bombshell.

As it was to be expected Ironside was the first to recover: "And how do you figure that we should do that? We just go there and explain to the police Chief of Davos how to babysit 400 "precious" business kings and their queens?

Randall obviously felt very uncomfortable. "I have no idea. But who could possibly do it if not you?"

Ironside tried not to be sensible to flattery, but not even _he_ was immune.

And the prospect of another trip to Switzerland was quite seductive: It was a beautiful country, and this time he had the chance of travelling across it without a blindfold.*

"Well, let's not say 'no' straight off..."

It was one of the rare struggles with Ironside Randall came out of as the winner.

"So it's settled then – you travel as soon as possible."

Ed had kept exchanging letters with Rebecca, the little girl they had met one year ago and who had been helpful as an interpreter. Ed had been practicing his German while she had written in English. Now he sent a telegram asking if she would be able to come with them: With her knowledge of the country and her English and German skills she might be a big help, however young she was. And he had felt that this somewhat neglected child enjoyed being with them – so he wanted to give her a break again. Ironside agreed, trusting Ed's judgment. Just before they left the next morning, the response came back: "Meet at Zurich airport. When?"

* * *

Eight year old Rebecca was awaiting Ironside and his team in the baggage claim area. When she got to see Ed she ran into his arms and he picked her up at full speed. She had grown two or three inches, but she was even skinnier than a year earlier, and rather pale. But the overwhelming joy of meeting her friends lit up her small, plain face.

"How did you get free since your holidays are in February, not in January, if I remember well?" the Chief wanted to know.

"Well, last year I got tuberculosis. You know where many children with tuberculosis are sent? To Davos. I'm perfectly fine now. But when I got your invitation I just had to cough a little more than necessary in order to remind people I'd been sick. Then my teacher and parents agreed to send me with you for the time of your being here."

Ironside wasn't quite sure if this was the right thing to do, but like his co-workers he couldn't withstand this little person's charm.

"But, young lady," Ironside thundered in his famous Ironside-manner, "you will obey unquestioningly every command of my staff or myself!"

Every man and woman in the SFPD – almost up to the Commissioner – would have paled with fear under the Chief's stare, but this girl, who had been so timid the previous year, looked straight into his eyes and grinned: "Yessir!"

Eve, Ed and Mark exchanged astonished glances. There was no giveaway like a dimple in his cheek… but perhaps a tiny glint in his eyes? The grumpy man and his unique way with children kept amazing them.

* * *

Ironside's first and foremost duty in Davos was a meeting with the Chief of the small Davos police, Feldweibel (Sergeant) Nik Heldstab. Commissioner Randall had used his connections to make this meeting possible. After that, Ironside would have to fend for himself. He took Sgt. Brown with him as a possible interpreter since Rebecca was definitely inadequate for this business. But it turned out that Heldstab's English was actually quite good: There were traditionally many English speaking guests and patients in Davos, so English was a commonly known language.

Ergo the understanding should not have been a problem – but nevertheless it was: They just didn't talk about the same issue.

Heldstab pointed out: "You see, not even the President of Switzerland has one single bodyguard. He is President for one year only, so why would somebody go through the trouble of murdering him? His Vice-President would take over, and another member of the Bundesrat, the Federal Council, would be elected. Nobody kills anybody in Switzerland because of political reasons. And why protect managers? We have lots of bank managers, but nobody kills them, not to mention a professor."

"Feldweibel – there will be important executives from different countries all over the world. Most of them have enemies. And this meeting is a symbol of the western economic system. Russia has quite different convictions. May I remind you that there is a cold war between Russia and the U.S.A.? It is possible that Russian agents would organize attacks for propaganda purposes. Of course there are other possibilities like terrorists or maybe also burglars, where so many rich people are together."

"Okay, if you are so anxious: I will tell my men to keep their eyes open."

"That's a start. But they need at least teargas and rubber pellets. And on the roads the standard are barricades of rolls of barbed wire so you can check who comes into the critical area. Another problem is vulnerable installations like the congress centre itself, the telephone exchange or important transmission lines."

Heldstab's head seemed to redden with every additional request.

"Perhaps you have enough police officers in America to provide such a level of security. As for me I just don't have the personnel for all that!"

"Can't you recruit soldiers? Switzerland has a militia army. So you have thousands of men ready to be enlisted."

Heldstab shook his head in resignation. "In peacetime not within a few days. But I will do my very best."

"Would it be possible to allow my people to carry weapons?" Ironside asked.

"You must understand that this would be far too dangerous, not only for your officers, but also for mine: Our policemen know one another. But if they were to encounter somebody else with a gun in his hands, they wouldn't know if that somebody was a member of your staff or a criminal. They could kill your officers or get killed themselves because they hesitate. No, we can't take that chance."

* * *

Ironside and his team settled in a nice middle-class hotel in the centre of Davos Platz. Ironside had a suite with a bath. They used his living room as headquarters, as it was their biggest room.

They remained in contact with Heldstab and his staff.

Davos was considered as a 'Kreis', something like a small district by itself with the structure of a town. It consisted of the 'town' Davos: Davos Platz and Davos Dorf, and the surrounding little villages and homesteads.

Ironside studied the map thoroughly and traveled around in a rented car driven by one of his co-workers. The roads were covered with snow of course, but because of the deep temperatures – always below -10°Celsius or 10-15°Farenheid – they had a good grip, and Mark as well as Ed drove carefully. They tried to find the best places for road blocks and also the weak points of the infrastructure. Heldstab accepted some of their suggestions, like installing rolls of barbed wire between the villages of Frauenkirch and Glaris and on Wolfgang Pass, but he didn't want to go as far as to guard important facilities.

One evening while they were checking security in the congress center, they ran into professor Kurt Schwarz. He was an externally unimpressive young man of medium built with a small, intelligent face and a receding hairline. He knew why they were present, and he was grateful for their dedication.

After leaving him, Mark elbowed Ed in the ribs: "Hey man, that guy is only a couple years older than you, and look what he's achieved already! If you ever want to be somebody, you should start putting your mind into it!"

Ed straightened his back. Then he tilted his head slightly and out of his full height he answered jovially: "I'll wait until _you_ are somebody so I can tell that I've seen your potential before you were famous!"

* * *

**First Day of the Meeting**

The participants of the congress arrived: some in their big limousines, others by airplane and taxi, some even by helicopter. The gentlemen bought Swiss watches and pocket knives at excessive prices. The beautiful ladies in their fur coats bought chocolate and savored the marvelous view from the mountain railways, but in their high heels they had trouble with the snow on the sidewalks and kept complaining about it.

Little Rebecca watched and marveled. She lived in modest conditions. The behavior of these rich, supposedly important people didn't impress her at all. "There's no difference. Any man or woman or child is equally important. The only difference is that some know it and others don't," she concluded philosophically.

The night of the opening of the congress hundreds of guests poured into the congress centre. Ironside tried to monitor their comings and goings, but the entrance door was large enough to allow several people to enter at the same time, and the control by uniformed police officers was a farce. Eve, Ed and Mark were circulating around in the big foyer, Rebecca stayed with the Chief to serve as a messenger if need be.

As supporting programme, the 'Buendner Youth Symphony Orchestra' would play. The young people with their instruments and their fresh faces were easily distinguishable from the participants of the forum: They were clad in simple black pants or skirts and white shirts or blouses. Some of them looked rather nervous, others seemed to look forward to their big appearance. A young man of about twenty-two with a viola was courting a pretty violinist who looked no more than seventeen. Then entered a man in his early thirties, his black suit rather shabby around the elbows, without an instrument but with a briefcase and a music stand under his right arm. Ironside thought that this might be the conductor of the orchestra. "Rebecca, ask him what they are going to play tonight!" he ordered in a low voice.

Tiny as she was she was able to slip between people. The conductor seemed to be pleased about the child's interest.

"They are only going to play as start of the opening," Rebecca reported. "It's Mozart: The 'Haffner' symphony, KV 385. The conductor is very proud because he was able to find the original combination of instrumentalists to perform it. His musicians aren't professionals, you must know, but the best young amateurs to be found in the whole canton – province - , he says. The symphony will last about twenty minutes."

Ironside nodded. The organization of the music looked more professional than the security…

Suddenly the Chief saw him: The man with the trombone case. There was no trombone in the original arrangement of the Haffner symphony. Anything could be in that trombone case…anything but a trombone…

* * *

(*FF story 'WHN Return to Fiji')


	2. Chapter 2

"Go tell Ed to stop that man!" Ironside ordered Rebecca who hurried to do so.

"Good evening, Sir. May I please take a look at your trombone?" Ed asked the man politely.

The latter took a swing at Ed who hadn't expected such violence, and pushed him back to the wall. Then he ran out of the door.

A second young man who had just entered the lobby turned around and left too. Regardless of the perplexed guests still standing around Ironside shouted: "Mark, follow them!"

Immediately his aide did as he was told. Ed picked himself up and ran after them.

The two men split up. Mark followed the man with the trombone, Ed the other, taller one.

The 'Obere Promenade', the main road of Davos, was very crowded at this hour. Mark had troubles not to lose his man. After about ten minutes he had to give up: The man with the trombone case had vanished. Disappointed Mark returned to the congress center.

The Chief was still in the foyer. "Let's hope that Ed got the other man," he said (almost) without any reproach. He knew that the task had been difficult. "But I sure would like to know who that was. Could be anybody from Russian agents to well organized thieves."

The other suspect was about Ed's size, and that was a big advantage, because he stood out over most other people in the crowd. Ed saw him disappear into a restaurant. When he arrived there, the man was leaning at the bar as if he had been there drinking for a long time. Ed recognized him all the same.

Slowly and carefully Ed approached him. "Police. Would you please follow me?" he whispered in German into the man's ear.

His mouth and the suspect's ear were at the same height, so the man could hear him perfectly well – but did he also understand?

He most probably did ... but he didn't share Ed's desire for inconspicuousness. On the contrary:

He turned around and smashed his full double whiskey into Ed's face. The glass collided with Ed's hard skull and broke. Then his fist landed in Ed's gut.

Finally an astonished Ed changed his strategy and started to defend himself. For what the man was stronger, Ed was quicker. So the resulting fight was quite well-balanced once Ed had abandoned his natural sense of decency. The bystanders watched fascinated: This wasn't the 'Wild West', so they didn't get to see such a spectacle all too often.

But as this was Switzerland, it didn't last long until two sedate police officers came running in. One blew into a thunderer whistle. The spectators retreated: Nobody was looking for trouble with the local police.

The two fighters couldn't stop right away though: the one who would obey to the signal would be the one getting the last blow; that much was clear. The older policeman drew his gun and shouted: "Stop at once!"

Ed, too well trained to disobey authorities, complied – and got a last nasty punch into his ribs.

Trying to rub his head where he had been hit by the glass and clutching his bruised ribs at the same time, Ed started to explain in his clumsy German: "Sir, this is not what it might look like...!"

"I don't care about what this might _be_. What it looks like is enough: You come with us, both of you. We don't accept any bar brawls."

At that, Ed and his adversary were handcuffed and led out of the restaurant. The spectators returned their attention to their glasses and their companions. The show was over.

It wasn't over for the two heroes though. They were put into two adjoining cells in the police building.

"Okay, here you can sleep off your hangover," announced Wachtmeister (Constable) Gujan in German. "Tomorrow the Feldweibel will take your names, and if you haven't got any record you will be allowed to go."

"Please, Sir, hear me out. It's really important!" Ed pleaded, also in German.

"Go ahead – I'm listening!"

"Can't we talk in your office?"

"No – you can talk here."

Ed was in trouble. To some degree he could understand the Constable: Because of the suspect's whiskey he smelled like a drunk. And he had no way of explaining that he was here on special police business without giving away exactly that to the other prisoner, since there was only a slatted board between them.

"Please take a look at this." Ed showed his badge.

The policeman laughed out loud. "My seven-year-old got such a thing for his birthday. You can get those in a cheap store for two francs and a half!"

Ed gave in and sat down onto the pallet provided for that purpose. There was not even a mattress, just a thin blanket: This prison was destined for one-night stays only.

Through the grating his former adversary grinned at him. Did he enjoy being in prison or what?

"What's your name?" Ed asked in German. He doubted that the other guy would tell him the truth – he would not have told him his own name either - but he would have liked to know at least what language he spoke.

But there was no answer, no sound at all, the man just grinned at him.

"So you're the quiet kind?" This time he used the English language. The reaction was the same.

Obviously there was nothing he could do, so he gave up. He lay down onto the hard bed, expecting an uncomfortable night.

* * *

Ironside, Eve and Mark had finally entered the main hall of the congress center. The young musicians had started their concert, and they were doing a fine job. What they lacked in professionalism they made up for with enthusiasm. Eve smiled and thought that they would be able to make a lot of money in the U.S., but here they obviously didn't, judging by their modest clothes.

The Chief could not enjoy the music adequately. Attentively he scrutinized the illustrious public. Mark bent down and whispered into his ear: "Have you seen the dark-haired guy over there?"

Ironside nodded. Near the entrance on the opposite wall a short, stocky man was standing up. In the course of hardly 18 minutes he had left the room three times, and now he quietly opened the door again. With a shake of his head Ironside pointed towards the door behind them, the nearest one. Mark pushed the wheelchair out into the lobby.

"Isn't this the foreign minister of Italy? He is behaving very suspiciously. What shall we do?" Mark asked in a low voice.

"Strange – yes. Suspicious – I'm not sure."

"At least he looks very nervous to me."

That was true. Quietly they approached the corner where the lobby met the corridor where the dark stranger had to be now. Suddenly they heard a voice coming from there:

"Oh, una bambina! Davvero, una Giuglietta! Perfetto, una bambina!"

When Ironside and Mark turned around the corner the dark-haired man hung up the receiver of the telephone on the wall. He turned towards them, beaming with delight. "Ho una bambina! Dio mio, ho una bambina!"

Ironside didn't speak Italian, but this was easy enough to understand. "Congratulations! Is this your first child?" The man looked at least forty.

"Oh no, Signore, we already have three sons and four daughters – five now, to be exact. Isn't it wonderful?" The minister spoke with a heavy accent.

He pulled a wallet out of his suit pocket. "Look here!" He showed them a picture with a horde of small, dark-haired children, himself and a chubby woman in the middle.

"Your family?"

"Yes, without Giuglietta, of course, since she was born only a few minutes ago. Oh che gioia!"

It was not easy to get away from the excited father, but finally they managed.

"He's real. Nobody is that good an actor," Mark grinned.

"No doubt about it." Ironside had to smile too. "But where is Ed? I would expect him to be back by now."

He phoned the police station – for the unlikely eventuality that Ed had brought in the runaway but had been hold up at the station.

Wachtmeister Gujan, the officer on duty, spoke with an even worse accent than the foreign minister. His English was hardly understandable. Rebecca, who could have helped with the translation, was in the hall with Eve, so Ironside had to get along without her.

"No, zere was no suspect browht in, and I don't know nossing about a Sgt. Brown. We jost have two tourists here who vere cought in a bar brawl. Good nai…"

"Just a moment, please! Would you describe those men to me?"

"Normally not, but in ziss case it won't hurt. Bos are quite alike: zey are young and very tall – near to 190 centimeters. Bos are assletic, but zere's a big difference in weight. And bos smell laik ze local schnaps destillery."

"Does one of them have brown hair, brown eyes and talk with an American accent?"

"Yes, ze ssinner one does. Why do you ask?"

"This is probably Sgt. Brown, and he's here on official police business. You just have to ask him his name. Then I would be thankful if you could let him go free."

"Sir, zer are regolations. Anybody kould phone ze police station and tell me soch stories. Ziss man was cought in a bar brawl. Even if he VAS a policeman in Timbuktu or somewhere else I can see no reason to let him go raight now. He VAS involved in a faight, I sow zat myself. He's locky if he isn't charged wiz 'resisting arrest'. But tomorrou, when he is sober, we let him go. It dos not hurt him if he has to pass ze naight in our little prison. Perhaps ziss is a lesson for him to stay out of trubles. Good naight."

At that, he hung up.

... It goes without saying that Ironside was furious: This arrogant little bureaucrat!

Mark, who was gloating for not being the only one who had failed tonight, saw the funny side of the story. "The Constable is right in some way. It's a prison in Switzerland we're talking about. I'm sure it's clean and tidy like our Sergeant. He won't die there overnight. And moreover he most probably caught his suspect. Isn't that a good thing too?"

The Chief threw him an angry look. "Let's go back to the hotel and to bed so the night passes quicker," he grumbled.

Then he imagined his trim assistant sleeping in his suit in a foreign prison. That was a funny picture indeed, and he had to smile himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Second Day of the Meeting**

Shortly after 6 o'clock in the morning they were awakened by a knocking at their door.

"Who is it?" Ironside shouted.

"Who do you think it is?!" Ed didn't sound like he was particularly happy.

Mark hurried to open the door.

Ed's suit was slightly creased and he was looking even more embarrassed than he sounded.

Ironside was relieved that he was here at all. Of course he didn't show that to anyone, instead he tilted his head sideways and cheerily greeted his bleary-eyed Sergeant: "So you had a little run-in with the local police forces, as I heard? Did you at least win that fight?"

Ed wasn't one who could stay ill-tempered about a bagatelle. "Well, not exactly," he answered, already half grinning. "Is there no coffee?"

"But it's not true that you have a hangover, is it?" Mark teased.

Ed made a face. "No hangover. I'm just tired. Couldn't sleep on the wooden pallet which is considered as 'bed' here."

Mark wanted to order breakfast, but he was told that it was too early to get any.

Sighing ironically Ed started to tell his story. "... And then, a few minutes ago, we were literally thrown out of the door – out of the _rear_ door, I'd like to point out. Probably the Wachtmeister had somehow heard about who I was and hoped not to get into trouble that way."

"Well, he will anyway. You said that the other man was released at the same time you were?"

Ed nodded. "Even a minute _before_ me. I had no chance of following him."

"We'll have to go back and look for a police artist. We need a picture of that man you tailed, since there was no official procedure when you were brought in."

Finally breakfast was being served. Rebecca had heard the sounds of it and had appeared shortly afterwards. She didn't like sleeping late.

"Go get Eve, will you?" Ironside asked her, and soon they were gathered at the richly-laid table.

After breakfast it was agreed that Ed and the Chief would go back to the police station and try to get a picture of Ed's adversary drawn.

Afterwards, the young folks would have the day off to go skiing.

When Feldweibel Heldstab, who was now on duty, heard Ed's story, he was angry at his Wachtmeister and apologized for the mistake. He understood Brown's anger and both the Americans' concern in view of the vanishing of the suspect.  
Fortunately, a very good police artist was available. Based on Ed's professional description he drew the picture of a square-jawed young man, considerably larger than Ed, with thick black hair and a goatee.

'Who are you, tough fighter?' Ironside asked silently to the man on the picture, 'a Russian spy? a simple thief? or perhaps a terrorist?'

"Do you happen to have any European mug files? Pictures of wanted terrorists for instance?" Ironside asked.

"I think there are some in our head office in Chur. I'll try to get them for you."

When they parted in the hallway in front of the Chief's hotel room, Ironside addressed Ed: "Perhaps your stay in prison wasn't useless after all. The Feldweibel is a lot more helpful now!"

"It would have had the same effect if you had retrieved me the same evening!" Ed countered reproachfully.

"I couldn't take any chances, could I?" Ironside asked innocently.

"And if you had been the one to sleep on the pallet, you would have expected me to leave you there, of course!" Ed ended the conversation, turning around to leave.

Yet Ironside added: "I wouldn't have let myself been caught!"

"You _do_ have to have the last word in every dispute, don't you?" Ed complained, heading towards his room in order to change into ski clothes.

"Well, I wasn't to know that you didn't want to say anything anymore!" shouted the Chief behind him.

* * *

When the young people had left, Ironside took the time for a second cup of coffee – very good coffee, by the way - and to read the 'New York Times', since there was no newspaper from San Francisco. It was full of praise for and gossip about the WDF. The whole world seemed to be looking at Davos right now. He would have preferred if they had looked elsewhere.

A knocking at the door pulled him out of his reverie.

A patrolman was standing there with a bag full of mug files. "Feldweibel Heldstab begs you to be very careful and discreet with those," he explained.

Ironside assured him that he would and let him go.

Thoroughly he worked his way through the files. It was worthwhile: He found the face of the man Ed had fought with, although on the picture he had a moustache. His name was Siegfried Hogefeld. The picture was very similar indeed. To be sure he would have to ask Ed or Constable Gujan though.

This Siegfried Hogefeld was a member of the _Rote Armee Fraktion,_ shortened to RAF, a violent and prominent left-wing terrorist group commonly known as the Baader-Meinhof Gang. Ironside wanted to do some research about the RAF. The police would most probably have more information about it.

He phoned the police station for somebody to help him down there. It wasn't far from his hotel, but the road was quite steep. In the snow it was too dangerous for Ironside to go down there alone in his wheelchair.

Heldstab called Gujan mercilessly out of bed, even though he'd worked the night shift. He was probably responsible for the escape of an important prisoner. Gujan knew that. Shortly afterwards he turned up and confirmed that Hogefeld was indeed the man who had spent the night in prison together with Sgt. Brown. Heldstab started to inform all his units that a dangerous terrorist was probably still around.

Ironside was given access to all the material available about the 'Baader-Meinhof Gang' or 'RAF'.

The RAF described itself as a communist and anti-imperialist 'urban guerrilla' group engaged in armed resistance against what they deemed to be a fascist state.

The origins of the group could be traced back to the student protest movement in West Germany a few years back. Industrialized nations in the late 1960s experienced social upheavals related to the maturing of the baby boomers born after World War II, the Cold War, and the end of colonialism. Newly-found youth identity and issues such as racism, women's liberation and anti-imperialism were at the forefront of left-wing politics.

In West Germany there was anger among leftist youths at perceived failures in the post-war denazification, as former (actual and supposed) Nazis held positions in government and economy.

A part of that left wing was radicalized, and Andreas Baader and associates founded the RAF* in 1970.

Carefully the Chief studied the pictures of the supposed members of the Baader-Meinhof Gang. Then he re-read the notes he had written down. He could understand those people to a certain degree: Some of their objectives were definitely justified. But he could not accept their violence.

* * *

Eve, Ed and Mark were having fun with Rebecca. There was a new gondola lift up to the Rinerhorn. They had rented the necessary equipment, and the day was cold, but sunny.

Eve was a good skier: She had learned skiing in St. Moritz with her parents. But Ed and Mark struggled with the long planks. "Keep your knees together!" Rebecca reminded them, as soon as the tips of their skis started to diverge – but usually it was already too late and the fall was inevitable. Sometimes she had to laugh about her friends' funny experiments, but most of the time her teaching was considerate and encouraging. So Mark's and Ed's skills improved quickly.

At 4 p.m. they stepped out of the little gondola cabin for the umpteenth time. Eve intended to give the men a chance for a break and asked: "Would anybody invite a lady for a cup of coffee?"

Rebecca was disappointed: "Ooh – now that Mark and Ed are so good at it we could make a quick descent and get one of the last ascents of the lift!

Mark and Ed exchanged a quick glance. They had the impression that Rebecca herself needed a break, she was looking hypothermic and she was coughing. Ed's bruised ribs were stinging more than a little. But Mark nodded. In order to please the child he stayed with her.

He even started to enjoy the quick gliding over the steep slides. "You are not without talent!" a finally tired Rebecca praised him, and he grinned from ear to ear.

They managed to get a cabin before the evening break all right. At the top they headed for the restaurant to call Eve and Ed.

It was Rebecca who saw the man who had carried the trombone case the previous evening. "Mark, look – isn't that the man who pushed Ed and whom you tried to catch yesterday?"

The bearded man was about Mark's size and very athletic. This time he was carrying a backpack.

"You go to Ed and Eve!" Mark ordered, and without further thought he followed the man.

For a while the man used the ski slope. Mark had trouble keeping contact with him: unlike him, the other man was obviously no greenhorn at skiing. Mark was determined not to lose him though.

Then the suspect left the slope and turned to the right, towards Davos. It was only by chance that he looked over his shoulder and discovered that he was being followed. He picked up speed. Yet to Mark it seemed as if skiing in the deep snow was more a matter of strength than skills. And he was strong and fit – as fit as his adversary!

They crossed a frozen creek, and then the journey went even upwards. The Afro-American wondered what the man had in mind.  
The climbing was arduous, his breathing became more labored, and the cold air stung in his lungs. Of course it never occurred to him that he could give up. After the crest he was glad to be able to relax going downhill – although not for long. The next climb came soon enough, and he had to gasp for air again ... but then so had the man in front of him.  
They followed more or less the southern slope of the Landwasser valley. Mark tried to recall what there was below them and where the man might be heading. For sure they were bypassing the roadblock between Glaris and Frauenkirch. Was this the actual purpose of the exercise? Mark had to hurry so as not to lose contact, since dusk was breaking in now.

Finally they reached the main road. Now Mark understood where the man was heading: The electric power station on the other side of the road! What a disgrace if there wouldn't be any electricity for the formal soirée tonight!

The man unfastened his skis and Mark hastened to do the same. He mobilized his last reserves of strength and ran up the hill towards the power plant.  
The man had retrieved something out of his backpack… Mark recognized it as being a grenade! Obviously he wanted to throw it through the small window of the power plant. Sanger took a run-up and tackled the man. The grenade rolled out of his hand…

* * *

*This is part of European history. The characters appearing in this story are purely fictional though.

_Author's note:  
While I am posting this chapter, choppers are flying over my head taking politicians and business leaders to the WEF in Davos.  
Our son, who is playing in an orchestra, hoped that his cello case would be searched for weapons..._


	4. Chapter 4

ch4

Mark left the man and dove for the grenade. Instantly, the man was on him and tried to snatch it from him. Mark managed to throw it further away into the open meadow ... far enough for them not to be hit when it exploded right afterwards.  
They rolled in the snow, each trying to get the upper hand: Both of them exhausted from the previous pursuit and both determined not to give up. Mark's earlier boxing training finally gave him the vital advantage. He managed to subdue the other man.  
But now – what should he do with him? He didn't even have any handcuffs. He would have to hope for a police patrol. He snatched the man's backpack, turned his arm around and started to walk him towards the roadblock.  
The man gave him a hard time: With his ski boots he kicked against Mark's shinbones whenever he had an opportunity. And of course – according to the 'law of the biggest possible anger', as Mark thought - there was no police patrol.  
Finally they reached the roadblock and the police officers who were in charge.

"Handcuff this man and take us to the police Chief of Davos!" Mark commanded between gasping breaths.

"And who wants us to do that and with what right?" a baffled police officer asked, eying the black-skinned young man warily.

"I'm Mark Sanger, I'm with the American special consultant working with your boss. You should have heard of us, and you'll find my identification in the left pocket of my parka. I don't have any official right to arrest anybody, but I strongly suggest that you do it for me, or else your boss might not be pleased."  
Mark wasn't really fraternizing. He was just worn out and wanted to get the job done.

"I've heard of you," the officer in charge confirmed. "But you'll have to wait until we find out what happened at the electric power station. We've just been told that there was an explosion. Perhaps my patrol car will be needed there."

"I can explain that." Without much enthusiasm Mark reported to them the events at the power plant. He opened the bearded man's backpack and found another two grenades. This was enough to convince any sceptical officer.

Finally he was taken back to Davos by car, together with his captive, only stopping at the power plant to retrieve his skis.

Ironside had been informed by radio and was awaiting him at the police station. Mark gave an account of the events of the last two hours.

When they finally came back to the Chief's suite, Eve was reading Ironside's _New York Times_ while Ed was teaching Rebecca to play chess. Without even taking off his ski boots Mark plunked down onto the sofa.  
They didn't have much time, so Rebecca reluctantly started to open his boots.  
She apologized: "Mark – I'm so sorry. I wouldn't have forced you into skiing down once more if I had known that you were so tuckered out!"

How typical for her to feel guilty!

Mark grinned and answered: "Never mind, I'm the born hero, didn't you know?"

"Come here, peewee", Ironside said softly. He picked her up and sat her onto his knees. "That's not your fault. Actually – if you had not taught Mark skiing and if you had not recognized that man up on the Rinerhorn, we would be out of electricity now, and above all: the congress centre would, too. Can you imagine the problems it would have caused? You prevented that. You did just fine."

Understanding well that all Mark wanted was to relax and drink coffee, Ironside asked him: "Are you up for another tough evening?"

Mark would have done everything for his boss anyway, but that he even _showed_ his care had an almost drugging effect.  
Immediately he stood up. "Heroes are always up for anything", he replied and left to take a quick shower. He had to hurry up in order to be ready for the formal reception.

When they stepped out onto the road, they were baffled. It was jammed with people: A demonstration against the WDF.  
Police officers held the protesters back so the invited guests were able to pass.  
Ironside and his staff observed the protesters closely. There were hippies, workers, farmers and old people, even whole families, and they were very quiet. Eve saw the receptionist of their hotel. He was holding a little girl by the hand. At his side was a woman pushing a perambulator. Together with another man he was holding up a placard: 'Affordable housing for families'.  
Seeing her questioning look the Chief explained that because many strangers could afford paying expensive rents, the latter went up in general. Native workers, for instance those who worked in tourism, didn't have high salaries, but had to pay high rental fees.

Two young women were carrying another placard: 'Others are hungry too'.  
"With what each of the people at the WDF eats tonight a family could live for a week," Mark guessed.

One placard asked: 'Right or wrong?' – and that matched quite exactly what Ironside and his friends were thinking.

Ed bent down and whispered into Rebecca's ear: "I'd like to join them as much as you do. But we have a job to do. We have to protect those politicians and managers. _Afterwards_ we will think about how we can change things. Ok?"

Rebecca nodded, not very happy with her current job.

Meanwhile they had reached the congress centre. In a low voice Ironside addressed his staff: "Those people won't do any harm. But there might be others hiding in the crowd who will. Stay alert!"

If possible, the participants of the formal dinner were clothed even more exquisitely than for the opening.  
They felt a little embarrassed about the demonstration, but most of them were used to worse affronts.  
They entered the festively lit hall and looked forward to a pleasant evening.

Ironside kept studying the faces of the protesters. Suddenly he recognized a face: He had seen it in the mug files of the RAF. This time, he didn't want to chase away the suspect. He beckoned Ed to come closer. "Look at the blond man in the dark green jacket. He might be an RAF member."

Ed watched him as inconspicuously as possible. The man deposed a holdall behind a tree under a window of the congress centre…


	5. Chapter 5

Ch5

The man deposed a holdall behind a tree under a window of the congress centre. Then he left.  
Ed and Ironside exchanged a glance and Ed knew that the Chief had noticed the bag.

Ed followed the man.

Ironside sent Rebecca to get Eve and Mark. Then he ordered Mark to move the bag away from the crowded area. Eve had to quietly call the police Chief.

Heldstab agreed that there might very well be a bomb in that bag. Fortunately he had an explosives expert available. At least he had finally started to take precautions, Ironside thought. Heldstab and the expert left for the police station with the bag.

* * *

Even when Ed and the man whom he followed had left the protesters behind them, the "Obere Promenade" was still quite crowded, like the evening before, and it felt like a flashback scene to Ed: The man could hide in any entrance or around any corner of a house.  
Of course Ed was alarmed when he suddenly couldn't see the man anymore.  
Slowly he eyed around the next corner – when he was violently hit from _behind_. Did the man have an accomplice? Ed thought, turning around.  
But there was no room for further considerations in Ed's mind. A second blow, this time to his already bruised ribs, made him lose consciousness.

* * *

By the time the participants of the forum were enjoying the third plate of an excellent dinner Ironside started to feel very uneasy.  
He had been informed by Heldstab that there had indeed been a bomb, but it had been defused securely.  
Sgt. Brown should have been back long ago. Even if he'd had to put the intruder behind bars himself that should not have lasted that long: this time the police _knew_ who he was. And if he had not caught the man it should have been clear that he had to come back to the Chief to report and not make any extra tours.

Ironside asked the highest ranking police officer available for help.

"That's exactly what we needed: Looking for your people. As if we hadn't our hands full anyway with all those security issues of yours!"

Any police officer in San Francisco would have gotten a dressing down, but the Chief restrained himself. He wasn't at home, and he couldn't go out on a search for his Sergeant himself.

* * *

When Ed regained consciousness he felt cold. Below and around him he felt something soft, but cold. In a dim way he wondered what he was lying on. Actually it didn't really matter. He fell unconscious again.

It was snow, he thought. There was snow everywhere in these accursed mountains. That's why he felt so cold. Strange though that he was lying in the snow. He drifted off again.

The clattering of someone's teeth awakened him. He wished that they would stop the clattering. Wished he could go back into nothingness. But they didn't stop. He finally noticed that it were his own teeth that were clattering. In fact his whole body was shivering. But when he tried to move he felt incredibly stiff. How could that be? The shivering was kind of a movement too...

Ed had to pull himself together. Slowly the pieces started to fall into place. He had been knocked out and now he was lying somewhere in the snow – and probably slowly freezing to death. He had to do something about it.  
He managed to sit up. His chest hurt, but that was to be expected. The night wasn't quite dark, there was a street lamp somewhere. Hence he was still in town. He was sitting by a steep brookside. Of what creek? Well, that wasn't really important right now.  
He tried to stand up. Dizziness made him falter. He had to get out of this creek bed, that much was evident. This was easier said than done though: A sharp pain made him clutch his ribs. His stiff limbs didn't want to obey him, and there was no feeling left in his bare hands. The powder snow made climbing difficult anyway. He tried to climb up to the road above – it wasn't far – but he slipped back down.  
Exhausted he lay there, cold to the bone and unable to move on.

"Ed, hang on, we're on our way!" shouted Mark. He had seen the man sliding back down into the creek bed and even in the twilight he had immediately recognized his friend's athletic slender frame.

A rope was thrown down. But when Mark noticed how clumsily the Sergeant fumbled around with his stiff hands he let himself down to him. He tied the rope around his own waist and his arms around Ed's. Two strong police officers pulled them up to the road.  
Ed was helped into a patrol car.

"Hospital or hotel?" Mark asked, guessing what his friend would say.

"I'm fine," Ed clenched out his standard answer between his still clattering teeth.

When they reached the hotel Ironside was impatiently awaiting them.  
Ed was sorry that he couldn't tell anything about the man – or more probably the two men – who had assaulted him.  
The Chief tried to hide his worry behind a façade of grumpiness: "Do you have any idea what a tantrum the police pulled when I wanted them to look for you?!" But then the concern for his Sergeant broke through. "Go get yourself a hot bath. Will you manage?"

"Sure," Ed answered and retreated into the bathroom.

Several minutes had passed and Ironside and Mark were still discussing the day's events. What had happened looked as a whole more like attacks of terrorists than like acts of espionage, but this didn't exclude that there were some Russians around as well…

"Mark, what's that?"

'That' was a quickly growing dark spot on the carpet, coming from the bathroom.

Mark jumped up and opened the bathroom door. The bathtub was full, but since the faucets were still open it was overflowing. Ed was sitting on the floor, fully dressed, in half an inch of water. He was leaning against the wall … and sound asleep.

First of all Mark closed the faucets. The mess would have to wait. He shook the sleeping man on the floor softly on his shoulder. "Hey, buddy, that's not where you are supposed to sleep!"

Brown awoke with a start. "Why not?" then, after glancing around: "What happened?"

"Nothing. You just forgot your bath. Let's get you to bed." At that he helped his wet friend get out of his clothes and into pajamas.  
Ed was asleep again before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

**Third Day of the Meeting**

The next day they didn't have any official duties. During the sessions of the congress, there were enough police officers around.  
Ironside let Ed have a long lie in. Mark had recovered surprisingly well after the previous day's exertion. The team sat together in front of an extended breakfast when someone knocked at the door.

Rebecca answered it. It was a police Constable.

"Good morning! Feldweibel Heldstab sends me here to inform you that we have arrested a suspect. He thought that you might be interested."

"Is he the bomb planter of yesterday?"

"No. I can't tell you any details. It's a woman though."

Ironside was somewhat surprised, but he knew that there were some women in the RAF. Perhaps she was a member of the group.  
"Okay then – what are we waiting for?"

Mark stayed at the hotel with Rebecca in case Ed would need him.

When the Chief and Eve arrived at the police station, Heldstab was quite upset: "That woman is behaving very strangely. I wonder if she is mentally sick or if she's just acting crazy. She doesn't seem to be worried one bit, on the contrary... take a look yourself!"

He opened the door to the two tiny cells where Ed had spent an uncomfortable night. They saw a very petite, dark haired woman in her early twenties. She sat on the pallet and smiled at them – and then she even waved!

Heldstab closed the door. "You see? I don't know what to do with her."

Ironside was getting fascinated with the unusual situation. "Please tell us what happened and why you think that she is a suspect."

"Well, after that attempted bomb attack I inculcated in my men to be very attentive. This morning, patrolmen Gadmer and Accola followed a Russian. Gadmer says that the man looked like Stalin himself with his black moustache – or rather like his son. Since you warned us that Russian agents might try to attack the WDF we pay special attention to Russians. So they followed this Russian. His name is Yuri Ogalev.

We know that because Accola had gone back to the 'Alpina' hotel Ogalev had come out of. There Accola was given Ogalev's name, and he reached me at home. Gadmer saw Ogalev meet this young woman and talk to her. When they parted he slipped a letter into her pocket. Since Gadmer knew where to find Ogalev he arrested the girl – and here she is. The letter is written in Russian, and up to now we haven't found anybody who can read and translate it."

"May I try to talk to her?" Eve asked. "She might rather talk to a woman than to a man."

"Please go ahead. I only arrived here a few minutes ago myself and didn't have time to do it myself. I don't know what languages she speaks. Just be careful. She wasn't carrying a weapon though."

Eve got the key to the cell. The girl was so small that she didn't think that there would be any danger for her.

"Do you understand English?" Eve asked.

"Oh yes, I do. Not perfectly, but well enough!" the girl smiled.

Eve knew very well that you couldn't judge people by their appearance. But this young woman looked _really_ innocent.

"What's your name?"

"I'm Nausicaa Isostimos."

That sounded Greek. "Do you know what the police suspect you of?"

Now the girl laughed out loud. "Well, I'm not quite sure. But I know that I haven't done it."

When she saw Eve's perplexed face she went on: "You must know: Yesterday on the ski gondola to Parsenn I met a young man named Yuri Ogalev. It was love at first sight... at least for me it was.  
Today I was looking for him, and we met 'accidently' on the 'Obere Promenade'... at least I thought so. We only exchanged a few words.  
Then the police arrested me, telling me that Yuri had slipped a letter into my pocket. I hadn't even noticed, because I was so excited of just seeing him.  
Then I had no chance of reading the letter – but the fact that Yuri slipped a letter into my pocket at all is sure a good sign, isn't it?"

Eve had to smile. She tended to believe Nausicaa.

"Heldstab told us that the letter is written in Russian. Can you read Cyrillic?"

"No. But are you sure of that? Why should Yuri write in Cyrillic?"

"That seems normal to me because he's a Russian."

"Oh, that's a mistake. His ancestors were Russians all right, but his family has been living in the U.S.A. since at least a hundred years. I don't think that he can even speak Russian."

Ironside had heard through the door what the two young women had been talking about. Now he asked Heldstab if he could see that conspirative letter. He had to laugh when he read it:

„ἀγαπω σε, συναξομεν ὁρα ἑπτα ἐν καταλυματι ἀστηρ."

"That's not Cyrillic, it's ancient Greek," he explained.  
"I'm not very good at it, but to me it looks as if a young man wants to impress a girl with his skills in Greek, hoping that she will understand him. This is nothing but an inventive love letter."

Heldstab was terribly embarrassed. Muttering a thousand excuses he released Nausicaa immediately.

The young woman wasn't resentful. "It will be so much fun to tell this story to Yuri. But may I please have my letter now? I'm sooo curious...!"

On their way back to their hotel the Chief was still chuckling. "What did he actually write?" Eve wanted to know.

"I love you, let's meet at seven o'clock at the 'Stern' hotel."


	6. Chapter 6

Back in their hotel Ironside and his staff planned the evening.

Rebecca wasn't able to sit still for very long, so she left to take a shower.

Tonight Kurt Schwarz would be honored: The mayor, the president of the local executive, would hold an honorific speech. That might be another attractive opportunity for any terrorist to try something.

In the middle of their cozy get-together there was a knock at the door again. This time it was Mark who answered it.

A tanned, sportive man in his forties entered. He looked like a skiing instructor.

"I'm Jann-Joeri Ambuehl, the mayor's representative. The mayor won't be able to come himself, because he's lying in a hospital bed in Chur right now."

Ironside introduced himself, Eve and Mark, and told him that he was glad about the possibility to plan the meeting with Schwarz. He didn't mention that anybody who claimed to be a 'representative' of anybody else was suspicious from the beginning: Ironside didn't like any deviance from the planned course of action. There were too many possibilities of imposture.

"Are you going to be the only one on stage besides Mr. Schwarz?" Ironside asked.

"No, towards the end of my speech a little girl will be standing there with a bouquet of flowers for Mr. Schwarz."

"That's a weak point. I'd like to use the girl who is with us. She's quite bright and should something be going on, she would notice it."

"Actually we had a very lovely looking twelve-year-old in mind..."

"Mark, call Rebecca!" Mark did how he was told.

Rebecca entered and greeted the mayor's representative friendly.

He eyed the very small girl in her old-fashioned clothes with a blatant lack of enthusiasm. "_This_ girl?" he asked, and, not daring to speak about clothes: "Will she even be strong enough to hold a big bouquet?"

Ironside wasn't able to entirely hide his anger about Ambuehl's striking sense of priorities. "You bet she will!" he answered. "I insist."

Rebecca, who couldn't know about Ironside's concerns, asked innocently: "You see, _I_ already passed my security check. What about you?"

Ambuehl laughed out loud. "Okay, you got me. I'm counting on you, little lady!"

* * *

Ironside and his team had a whole afternoon on their hands. Ed was finally up. "Do you feel up to a horse-drawn sleigh ride into the romantic Sertig Valley?" Ironside asked him.

Cautiously, going easy on his ribs, Ed stretched his long limbs to get the stiffness out of them. "Yessir; a cup of coffee and I will be fully operational!" he declared.

Ironside didn't believe him, but the Sergeant was old enough to know what he needed and to speak for himself.

Ed got two cups of coffee and a plate of sandwiches. He offered to share them with his friends but ended up eating most of them himself.

Several of the famous horse-drawn sleighs were waiting in front of the railway station. They chose one with only low railings. Even so it was quite challenging for the Chief to get into it. Thanks to his strong arms and with a little help from his friends he managed.

The ride through the fairytale landscape was a very appeasing experience after all the commotion. The day was clear and very cold, but the sleigh was equipped with wonderful furs. At the back of the valley was a cozy little restaurant. There one could taste the best 'Birnbrot' in the area, according to the sledge driver.

"That's a great prospect – but how would the Chief get into that restaurant?" Eve wanted to know. Rebecca translated the question.

The owner was a cousin of the driver's… but then probably everybody was everybody's cousin in this valley. Anyway: The driver was interested in getting as many customers as possible into the restaurant. And he was imaginative: He went into the stable behind the restaurant. When he came back he was dragging a very strange-looking object. Ironside didn't want to spoil his friends' mood, so he laughed: "What in blazes is this?"

It was a "Hornschlitten", a big sledge with long horns which was used to transport hay. Together the young people helped Ironside sit down onto it. Then they pulled and pushed the particular vehicle not only to the restaurant, but even into it. On the old carpets it slipped fairly well, and the team and bystanders had a whale of a time with it.

They were served dried meat and cheese with bread and coffee. The 'Birnbrot', one of the local specialties, exceeded the expectations of every sweet tooth.

Soon they were on their way back to town. In order to give a tired Ed a break from Rebecca's constant hopping up and down, he was offered the seat beside the Chief in the back of the sledge, whereas Mark climbed up to the driver, where the view was even more amazing. Rebecca sat down beside Eve… when she sat at all. Most of the time she climbed around, chatting with each of her friends, showing them a deer she had noticed first, or asking questions nobody was able to answer. Ironside had to smile about her excitement. They enjoyed every minute of the ride, until...

"Stop at once – or I will shoot!" A dark-haired man had jumped onto the road in front of the horses.

Was this now a real Russian spy? Or another terrorist? Ironside didn't get further with his considerations, because the man, in order to give his words the necessary weight, suddenly shot into the air. Instantly the horses bolted. Everything happened very fast. The man with the gun managed to jump out of the way, though just barely. Mark jumped off his seat and followed him instantly.

Rebecca, who had been standing, was thrown out of the sledge. Eve had tried to catch her but missed. She leaped behind the child.

Fortunately the snow was very deep right there and neither of them was hurt. The coachman was in trouble though. He lost the reins and jumped off the sledge.

The horses ran on at breakneck speed, guideless. They touched the right side of the narrow road, the sledge bumping hard into it. Ironside, who was sitting on the right side of the back seat, was knocked up into the air. The next moment, the sledge crashed into the left side and toppled over. Ed managed to grab one of the Chief's wrists.  
One of the horses got clear of the sledge, the other one pulled on while the sledge was lying on its side. Ironside was lying on top of it, most of Ed's body was still somehow in the overthrown vehicle. Then the second horse stumbled near the now flat left shoulder and fell down. The sledge came to a standstill – hanging over the precipice. Ironside slid over the edge, hanging on one arm along the bottom of the sledge, dragging his Sergeant along with him.

Ed managed to cling to the framework of the sledge with his legs, but his bruised ribs felt like breaking, his back and arm seemed to be torn apart.  
Ironside managed to outstretch his second hand and Ed grabbed it. The situation was still precarious though. Ed's legs were wedged firmly against the bench of the sledge, and this bench would hold, the woodwork was Swiss quality. And there was a remarkable strength in Ed's long, slim fingers, but nevertheless Ironside's wrists started to slip through his hands. A fall into the ravine would most probably mean the Chief's death.

"Can't hold you. Help me!" Ed hissed frantically between clenched teeth.


	7. Chapter 7

The Chief had to make a very quick decision: Would Ed's body be able to carry the weight of them both? Was it his life against – perhaps – both their lives? He would not risk that, never!

"Please!" Ed begged. He would never forgive himself if he let go of the man who was more than a friend to him, to all of them... he was more like a father.

"Please!"

Ironside understood Ed's message. He made an incredible effort: He pulled himself up and with his right hand grabbed Ed's left wrist, then with his left Ed's right. He was a strong man, his grip was powerful and tight.  
Of course Ed was still under enormous strain, but he didn't have to worry about letting go of the Chief anymore.

"Tell me _before_ you fall, you hear!" Ironside ordered as firmly as he could.

The coachman stopped the first car passing by. He was lucky: It was a medical transporter from the clinic in Clavadel on its way to Davos.  
When the transporter reached the scene of the accident, he got out together with the medical emergency technician who was driving the van. They hurried to climb onto the overthrown sledge.

"Häb Sorg, der elter isch glähmt!" the driver shouted.

The medical technician knew what a paraplegic was, although not much more. In view of the considerable difference in build between the two men in danger, it was obvious that at least the one on top would not be able to hold on much longer. Therefore there was no time for a professional rescue.  
With a short "Äxgüsi!" the two locals grabbed Ironside's arms and pulled him up as gently as possible. Of course this treatment didn't do any good to the Chief's back. He gritted his teeth though and didn't show his distress.

As soon as he was relieved Ed collapsed beside the sledge, arms wrapped around his ribcage.

Ironside was put on a stretcher. Obviously he should be taken to the hospital.

"There's no need for that, I'm all right!" he informed his rescuers. But their English wasn't good enough to understand him: The medical emergency technician was actually a gardener most of the time, and this job didn't require any English skills; and the coachman had his own farm and drove the sledge only to supplement his modest income somewhat.

Quickly they lifted the stretcher into the emergency vehicle.

Slowly but surely Ironside lost his temper. But the doors of the vehicle were already closed when he earnestly started to rant...

At the small hospital in Davos Platz, there was finally a doctor who could understand him. Nevertheless: when he heard what had happened he insisted on examining Ironside thoroughly. Amazingly, he had sustained no serious injuries. He had just some bumps and bruises, and his back would probably hurt for some time.

Still fuming, mainly because he was worried about his people, the Chief left the hospital in a borrowed wheelchair. He was somewhat relieved though when he encountered Eve and Rebecca by the entrance door. Both of them were unharmed. Eve pushed the wheelchair to police headquarters, which wasn't far away.

There they found Mark and Ed. The latter looked a little worse for wear and was leaning against a doorpost for support. Neither he nor Ironside asked each other how they were doing. They knew that, no matter what the truth was, the answer would be "fine". But Ironside's look at the Sergeant was about as close to thankful as Ed had ever seen, which was exactly how Ed was feeling himself. Yet he knew that the Chief wouldn't want him to voice it.

Mark informed the Chief, not without pride: "I caught the man who stopped the sledge. Again it was no Russian spy, just a small-time hood, as far as the police can tell. There must be a rich African prince at the WDF. The man thought that this was me and hoped to get a ransom for me!"

Ironside threw the police officer in charge an angry look. This was another reason why the security for the WDF should have been a lot tighter: There was far too much money available for any would-be filchers.

"And above all there's still no guarantee that we won't have any political complications," he said angrily.

From police headquarters Eve took Rebecca to a clothing shop in order to find some suitable clothing for her big appearance. The saleswoman was quite well educated and recognized immediately that Eve's fur coat and shoes were the expensive kind. Accordingly, she became very friendly.

"We are looking for a nice dress for this young lady," Eve announced - and they were being served perfectly. Eve chose a delicate white dress which matched Rebecca's frail features but concealed her leanness. The necessary accessories were found swiftly.

Back in their hotel room, Eve worked miracles on Rebecca's hair with a pair of scissors and some barrettes.

Rebecca stood in front of the mirror and turned around in bewilderment.

"Is that really me?"

Then she stuck out her tongue towards the girl in the mirror.

Entering, Ed, who had overheard her last question, laughed and confirmed: "Yes, that's definitely you!"

Mark dutifully admired her: "Look at this princess!"

Rebecca danced around, bumping into Ed because there was not enough space for this kind of activity. Nobody noticed his wincing. He asked teasingly: "Now do you think you will be able to stand still for five minutes tonight?"

Rebecca answered indignantly: "You bet I will!"

Proudly Eve, Ed and Mark presented the metamorphosed creature to the Chief.

Ironside, suddenly not so sure anymore if this dressed-up whirlwind would really be able to do what she was expected to do, asked charily: "And do you think that she will be able to be quiet for as long as will be required?"

This time Mark answered, imitating Rebecca's voice: "You bet she will!"

When the collective laughter had faded away Ironside tried to be serious: "Would it be too much trouble to check security arrangements for tonight?!"

Ed hung his head, Eve made a face and Mark answered in mock seriousness: "No Sir, as you wish, Sir!" And off they went.


	8. Chapter 8

Rebecca seemed to be looking out the window. But something about her posture caught the Chief's attention. "Something bothering you, Rebecca?" he asked her.

"Well, I just did some thinking," she said without turning around.*

"Come here, tell me about it!" he invited her.

She took a seat at his side. "You see, Eve bought this lovely dress for me..."

"Don't you like it?"

"Oh, of course I do. I never had anything so nice. Still I don't know if it is right to take it."

"I think buying it for you was a pleasure for Eve. And since she is a wealthy young lady, she can very well afford it. Don't you worry about that, just show her your joy about it."

"I'm very happy about it. But ... you see... there are many children who don't even have enough to eat, and I have so much... I can very well understand those protesters from yesterday, and in a way even those people of the RAF. Of course, what they do is wrong. Nobody has the right to hurt someone else or destroy their stuff. But they are right: some people have a lot more than others. That's okay as long as the others make a living too, but in Africa or Asia many people can't. They have the right to be happy too, don't they?"

Ironside considered his answer carefully. How could he explain this to an eight-year-old who didn't even speak his language well enough?

"Rebecca, you are a very smart kid. Others aren't. Do you think that they are unhappy all the time because of that?"

"No. That's because stupidity doesn't hurt, but hunger does."

Ironside had to suppress a smile. That was logic indeed. It seemed to him as if she would have to find her own explanation. And she did:

"Look, I live in a rich country. It is rich because our banking institutions for instance loan money to poor countries and charge them with too high interests. Then they pay taxes to the state, and the state can build schools and hospitals and so on, and I benefit from that. We all are kind of accessories because we don't do anything against that, but go further away from what God actually wanted from us."

Ironside thought that this wasn't a silly explanation: injustice as the product of worldwide trade and personal guilt.

Perhaps a religious approach would help her to come to terms with her problem.

"And what do you think is God's position in all this?"

She looked straight into his face but didn't seem to see him. Her eyes were too big for the small face. Thoughtfully she explained:

"Jesus Christ gave his own life for us –as an innocent victim. He didn't condemn the guilty ones then. Perhaps this means that he doesn't condemn us either, but wants to give us the strength to stand up and do what we can to make the world better and fairer... and that way get back to his plan and to himself ..."

"You are sure right about that. And the participants of the WDF try to take care of some problems of the poor countries too."

"That may be true. But wouldn't it be better if they talked _with_ the people of those countries instead of talking _about_ them?"

"Now, that's a good idea. You know what we are going to do? We'll talk to Klaus Schwarz. He might in the future invite not only important people, leaders and politicians and management executives, but also some people like you and me – and especially people from poor countries. He could call that 'Open Forum' – the parallel forum where anybody can talk about the important questions of life. Do you approve?"**

"Yessir, I do! And if the important people of the future WDFs listen to the others, the ones of the 'Open Forum', they will better understand their problems."

"And you revel wearing your dress and try to create a circle of joy and fairness around you. If others do the same, this will involve more and more people."

Rebecca's bright smile showed him that she felt understood and encouraged. When there was a knock on the door she jumped offher seat with her usual energy to answer it. Ironside didn't mind that she accidently pushed his chair away. At least for the moment her world was back in place.

When Rebecca opened the door, it wasn't Ironside's co-workers, but Jann-Joeri Ambuehl. He looked very embarrassed.

"Mister Ironside, I don't object to all your security issues. But I didn't know that there were barricades in the small cross-streets as well." This was the first Ironside heard about it too.

Ambuehl went on: "Since I was already late I thought that I could get over the barbwire ... but obviously I thought wrong!"

"What happened?" Ironside asked.

"Well, I came here via 'Guggerbach Street', and there was that barbwire, and my jumping wasn't as good as it used to be... And now my pants aren't as good as they used to be either." He turned around just a little, but enough to let the Chief get a glimpse at the back of his pants. There was a very long tear.***

"And I have this speech tonight... and the stores are already closed..."

"I would gladly lend you a pair of my pants, but I doubt that they would fit, and Sgt. Brown's are too tight, and probably Mark Sanger's as well..."

At that moment, Ironside's staff came in. Immediately they saw the problem. Mark got a pair of pants out of his suitcase, but Ambuehl was quite a bit larger than him.

"Let me handle this!" Eve proposed. And quickly she closed the tear with needle and thread. The front view was perfect, and hopefully he wouldn't have to turn around.

"Being a rich man's daughter doesn't mean that a woman can't handle domestic issues like any other," she smiled.

Gratefully Ambuehl left. Ironside and his people followed at a slower pace.

Ironside and Eve positioned themselves near the main entrance. The Chief considerately ordered Ed to monitor the hall where he could take a seat, and Mark waited behind the stage with Rebecca until it was time for her appearance. The bouquet was indeed huge and quite heavy. After a seemingly endless time they got a sign from a uniformed employee and Rebecca headed for the stage.

On the stairs somebody put an envelope into the bouquet. "This belongs to the flowers too, we almost forgot it!"

The man turned around and left the dimly lit corridor. Rebecca knew what she had to do. Quietly she scurried back to Mark. "Take a look into the bouquet. There's an envelope. Nobody told me that there would be one."

Carefully Mark removed the envelope. "Now hurry back!"

Immediately he gave the envelope to a police officer to examine it.

Rebecca positioned herself behind Ambuehl, as she had been told. She had to wait for another ten minutes and the bouquet started to weigh heavily. But she stood there like a statue. When Ambuehl motioned for her to come forward, she did so and turned the flowers over to Schwarz with her brightest smile. Then she retreated quietly, but quickly.

The guests left the building shortly afterwards. Ironside was already waiting for Rebecca.

She opened the large entrance door for him. The air was biting cold now, the temperature must have dropped further down. Nevertheless Ironside wheeled out. Rebecca followed, but the cold air hit her frail lungs like a blow. She started to cough uncontrollably. Her small body was racked by the coughing spell. Concerned, the Chief looked at her.  
And then a shot rang out. A Swiss-German voice was heard – and Ironside understood well enough the meaning of the words: "Lon schi ni flücha. Schi het mini Visaschä gseh!"

Alarmed the Chief caught Rebecca's arm. "Climb onto my knees - hurry!" he ordered. She tried to hold one hand in front of her mouth like she had been taught. With the other she clutched her midriff. Ironside saw that she could hardly move. Her weight was no problem for him. He pulled her up onto his lap. With her thin arms she clung onto him. Since he wouldn't be able to open the big entrance door on his own he turned around and intended to move out of the enlightened area in front of the building. He heard footsteps…were they coming closer? More shots were fired...

* * *

_Author's notes:_

_* My stories are finished when I start uploading them. This chapter is not the answer to a review I got, it was there from the beginning._

_** In reality the first 'Open Forum' took place in 2003._

_*** This detail actually happened. I changed the circumstances and the name of course, so as not to embarrass anybody._


	9. Chapter 9

A bullet grazed Ironside's arm and the searing pain made him gasp, but he didn't stop. Finally he reached the area where the circle of light ended and they were safer from the bullets.

Only seconds later Ed and Mark appeared in the door and the attackers ran.

"Ed, Mark – come here, don't follow them!" Ironside ordered. Those men were armed and dangerous, and his friends didn't carry any guns. He didn't want to take any risks like the night before.

Ed took the shivering child from the Chief's arms. The coughing had almost stopped now, but the whole ordeal had left her completely exhausted. He tried to comfort and protect her from the cold.

Looking out into the darkness Mark cautiously pushed the wheelchair back towards the entrance of the congress centre.  
The four of them re-entered the building.  
In the bright light Mark saw the blood on Ironside's sleeve. He helped the Chief take off his jacket, then he ripped the sleeve of the shirt open.  
Pressing his handkerchief onto the wound in order to stop the bleeding Mark said: "We'll have a doctor see it."  
He ignored Ironside's grumbling.

The doorman, who hadn't understood at all what was going on, gathered his wits. He fetched a first-aid kit and helped Mark apply a makeshift bandage. Meanwhile Ironside explained in a few sentences that he hadn't actually been the target, but Rebecca.

The police chief came running with several officers in tow. "What happened?" he asked, addressing nobody specifically.

"We'll explain later!" Ironside growled, pressing his painful arm against his chest.

"Just a moment! First we had to deal with a letter bomb and now..." Heldstab protested.

"Sir, the Chief needs a doctor." Ed's voice made it clear that he was ready to take command now. "We will call in at your office after that."

Ironside suppressed his anger and tried to ignore the pain in his arm. "It's all right, Ed. Heldstab, have your people search the area I was in during the shooting – between the door and the right corner of the building. They will find some bullets there. It will be interesting to find out what weapon they came from."

Eve had asked the doorman for the address of the nearest doctor. He volunteered to announce their visit by phone.

They didn't have to go far. About a hundred yards down the 'Obere Promenade', a nice lady in her late fifties – Mrs. Benz - showed them into Dr. Benz' medical practice. Dr. Josias Benz himself had to be almost sixty-five years old, he was short and of the old fashioned kind who were ready to help at any time of day or night.

He examined Ironside's arm carefully. "It's a bullet wound, isn't it?" he asked. "I'll have to report it to the police."

"They already know," Ironside answered, grimacing when the doctor injected a local anesthetic in order to treat the wound. When this was finished he applied a disinfectant and then a professional bandage.

When the Chief came out of the treatment room, Mark headed for the door but Ed stopped him. He addressed the doctor:

"Sir – would you please take a look at this young lady?"

Rebecca was almost asleep in his arms.

"Take her into my treatment room. What's the problem?"

Ed told him, and he examined her lungs with his stethoscope. Trying to assess their ages and seeing no resemblance between the athletic man and the skinny child he wanted to know: "She's not your daughter, is she?"

Ed had to smile. "No, we're just friends."

"Then you will have to contact her parents. You were right: She hasn't overcome the tuberculosis. And she's underweight... I don't like that combination one bit."

Ed wondered how she could be so energetic – so rambunctious while being sick.

The doctor assumed that it was only a kind of nervous energy that was keeping her going.

"Listen, son – you don't look too good either. You wouldn't be by any chance the one they pulled half frozen out of the Guggerbach last night, would you?"

"Er ... well, yes, I'm the one. But I'm fine, I have just a muscle ache from skiing." But when Rebecca accidently pushed against his ribs he winced visibly.

"Now young man, stop taking me for a fool! I was willing to care for your boss and for your little friend in the middle of the night. Now you owe me. I know that there's something going on, and I want to know what. For starters let me take a look at your injuries."

Ed took Rebecca out of the treatment room. Then the doctor examined him, shaking his head in disbelief. "A muscle ache from skiing, huh! Looks to me like you rather had a run-in with a snow groomer. You know that it is very dangerous to do your job in such a condition, not only for you, but also for those who depend on you, don't you? You wouldn't be able to defend yourself or anybody else."

Ed nodded. "Yes, but…" and he stopped because there was nothing to say.

The old medic sighed. "I should confine you to bed, but it is no use, I suppose."

Applying a tight bandage around the stubborn patient's ribs he went on: "Those broken ribs will need about six weeks to heal. The least you can do is stay out of trouble for the next couple of weeks. Can you manage that?"

This time Ed smiled wholeheartedly. At least he would not _look_ for trouble!

"Then let me have a few words with your boss - not about you, you're a grown man - but about your mission."

Ironside was quite astonished when the doctor called him into his study.

"Sir, it's time you shared some information now – about your job here."

The Chief pierced him with his famous Ironside stare. "Doctor, I am thankful for your help. But I think that our task is none of your business."

The little doctor glared back at him as if he outweighed the Chief by a ton. "_You_ secure evidence at a crime scene and then you draw conclusions._ I _see evidence when I examine people. And I hear rumors. You were hit tonight. I don't know how your friend got into the state he's in, but he could easily have died yesterday, are you aware of that?"

"Yes, I am. And if you think that I don't care about the boy you are dead wrong!"

The two strong men looked in each other's eyes: The genial detective in the wheelchair and the small old mountain doctor. And they understood each other; they saw that under the rough surface of their counterpart beat a gentle, caring heart.

"Okay, then tell me the truth now. I'm in the 'Grosse Landrat', the City Council, and the WDF sure _is_ my business. You are involved in the security of the WDF, and there is trouble."

Ironside was impressed. This man was in his own way as competent as himself. And perhaps he had indeed the power of changing things. So the Chief told him everything – the whole story.

"Police Chief Heldstab isn't a bad man," Doctor Benz answered thoughtfully. "But he probably couldn't imagine that big politics and big business require new security concepts. I'm very sorry that you and your people had to pay the price for his – for our - mistakes, and I'm thankful that you were able to protect the participants of the WDF. There will be changes within the security the police provides, and soon. I'll see to that."

"Thank you, Doctor – that was the purpose of our mission." Ironside was relieved, although he didn't know how much Benz would actually be able to achieve for the remaining time.

"Good night, Mr. Ironside. Please take good care of yourself and of your people, will you?"

Mark pushed the Chief back towards their hotel, whereas Ed carried Rebecca, ignoring his protesting ribs. There wasn't much traffic anymore that late in the night. They exchanged information about their points of view on the events of the evening.

"You know what was strange about the man who gave me the envelope?" Rebecca asked. "He spoke Swiss-German with a dialect of Graubuenden."

Ironside nodded. He assumed that it had been the man who had fled with the one who had shot him. Did the RAF have sympathizers in Switzerland and even here in the mountains?

Upon reaching the hotel they saw that there was light behind Ironside's window. Eve, who hadn't gone with them to the doctor's office, was obviously waiting for them there.

Then the Chief noticed something else: A Jeep was slowly nearing the hotel. Right under that same window it stopped. In the moonlight Ironside spotted the silhouette of an MP pointed at his window…


	10. Chapter 10

Mark and Ed had stopped in the meantime, but their reaction was a lot slower.

"Arrest the men in that Jeep!" Ironside ordered, afraid that Eve might get hit. How should he know who their target was?

Ed put the child to the ground and Mark left the wheelchair. In the blink of an eye they were on the Jeep.

The man Mark took on didn't stand a chance against the well-trained ex-boxer. Ed fought with the other for the MP5, but he obviously wasn't at his best right now. Pressed against the windshield he could not breathe anymore.  
Mark saw that he needed help urgently. He snatched the gun and turned it on the two terrorists.

"That's it then, gentlemen!" he said in English, confident that they would understand him.

"Thanks, Mark. I owe you!" Ed gasped, steadying himself against the window of the Jeep.

A patrolling police officer had heard the ruckus and came running by. Seeing Ironside and his staff he handcuffed one of the men and trusted Mark with him while he took charge of the other one.

In the light of a street lamp Ironside recognized the blond man with the holdall. The other one swore like a trooper – in Swiss German.

"That's the one who put the letter into the bouquet!" Rebecca shouted, as his voice rang a bell.

The two men were taken into custody.

Heldstab was still at work. He ordered a paraffin test for both men to find out if one of them had shot Ironside.

He was very surprised when he recognized the man who had planted the letter into the bouquet.  
"He's a friend of Ambuehl's, from the Landrat. I'm sure that Ambuehl didn't know what he was up to."

"Of course he didn't!" the man shouted furiously. "You people only think of money, and there's big money around the WDF... for those who already have their millions. We want to stop that before it becomes an institution!"

Ironside had to think about the discussion he'd had with Rebecca earlier this evening. She was right: People would have to talk about that. But shooting and destroying and killing were no solutions.

**Final Day of the Meeting and Aftermath**

When Ironside and his team left the hotel to check the security for the final reunion, they were stopped a hundred meters before the congress centre by a patrolman.  
"May I see some identification, please?" He obviously had a list of the participants to the WDF.

_Where did that list suddenly come from?_ Ironside wondered.

At the congress centre there were dozens of police officers standing around and patrolling. Hopefully with all those police officers they would catch the last known RAF terrorist too, Ed's sparring partner Siegfried Hogefels.

At the entrance door of the congress centre they encountered Dr. Benz who was just leaving.

"How are you today?" he asked, pointing at Ironside's arm.

"I've been a lot worse. It's incredible what changes regarding security you achieved overnight, Doctor! How did you do that?" he complimented the physician.

"Oh, that wasn't just me. I didn't have much convincing to do after the second bomb and after the arrest of so many RAF members – and after discovering that there was a whole conspiracy including even some locals. It was you and your people who gave Heldstab the right ideas… and who avoided any damage. Your merits will never be made known to a larger public though, I'm afraid. But thank you again."

"It looks as if every single police officer of the canton Graubuenden is in Davos at the moment! I think that our mission is completed," Ironside smiled.

"That's a good thing since neither you nor your Sergeant are in any shape to chase gangsters right now!" Dr. Benz concluded.

Stunned, Ironside's staff stared at the little doctor. Had he really managed to have the last word with the Chief?!

There were just a few arrangements to be made. It was agreed that Rebecca would stay in Dr. Benz' house until her tuberculosis would be healed. His friendly wife liked having a child around for a few months. Rebecca was very happy – although she would of course have to go to school. Ironside could only hope that Mrs. Benz had nerves of steel... and the patience of a saint!

In the rented car Mark drove them through the Praettigau valley towards Zurich airport.  
After they had passed the "Clus", the narrow gorge between the Praettigau and the Rhine valley, there was much less snow ... and much more traffic.  
In fact they almost ran into a traffic jam. People had left their cars and were standing around and chatting with one another.  
Ed got out of the car to try to pick up some gossip.

He came back grinning. "It's a car accident. Nothing serious, only bodywork damage. But there's not a single policeman available. You know what somebody said? 'It looks as if all of them are in Davos at the WDF!'"

Chuckling they left the highway and took the train in Landquart in order to catch their airplane in time.

They had just sat down in Ironside's office for a cup of coffee when Commissioner Randall walked in. Already on the ramp he started talking: "Yes, Bob, I admit, you were right from the beginning. I'm sorry I sent you there, it was a complete waste of time."

Eve, Mark and Ed exchanged surprised glances. They couldn't remember that Ironside had ever said that this trip would be a waste of time. Probably the Commissioner himself had been in doubt from the beginning if it was right to send Ironside and his team on this mission.

"We heard and read about it in all the media: The organization of the WDF was perfect. No trace of espionage, terrorism or of a security problem. That peaceful demonstration only pointed that out. The Davos police really didn't need you, as you had predicted."

"Good evening, Dennis! So, do we agree that I was right all along?"

"Yes, I already said that," Randall admitted grudgingly.

"And that means that I will have things _my_ way next time?"

"Yeees, you will."

"That's what I needed to hear," Ironside nodded contently.

* * *

_Author's note:_

_Thank you, dear beta Lemonpig, woman with 'nerves of steel... and the patience of a saint'!_

_Thank you, dear readers and reviewers!_


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